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Cut the Chord
The last thing he remembered was the song, then the gate... he remembered stepping into the gate, and then pain...a pain beyond pains. He wandered in an desolate place, lacking any form, gray upon gray, wondering if that is all there was of him, the song, the pain, and then this place that didn't seem a proper place at all, but more, and absence of places. How long he had wandered in the place that wasn't really a place he could not say. It was long enough that he cataloged almost 200 different names for the hues of grayness he perceived there. Names. He didn't have one did he? He remembered he used to name things, like that old lady, She Wears Frogs. Now where did that memory come from? And what was memory anyway? Odd very odd, he sat down in the gray desolate scape and stayed there mulling over this. He sat un-moving for perhaps minutes, maybe even days. There was no telling. Eventually he noticed something that seem odd with himself. There was, attached to him, a blackened, what may have once been, a silver chord. But coming from that same place, there was a thin, still intact silver chord leading off into the far distance. He touched the silver stand, and felt it's fragility. It was weak, much weaker then the one that seemed to have have been blackened. He touched the remains of the blackened one, which caused it to suddenly disintegrate. There was a brief hint of song associated with it when that happened. He remembered, he used to sing. And his songs...did things. A bard? No that didn't seem right, he was something though he could not remember what. He was a namer, and a singer. That much he remembered now. For a lack of anything else to do in this place of nothing but gray, he followed that fragile thin chord. There was no telling how long either. Time did not seem to really exist in this place either. This place had a name, he was suddenly sure of that. Tu'fyr was it's name. Between. But between what? There was no ready answer for that so he kept following the silver chord. Countless time passed and he found himself at a place where finally the gray land scape, gave rise to something different. A gray wall that stretched out as far as he could see, and likewise up as far as he could see as well. One in which the silver chord, still fragile as glass, lead straight into. Testing the wall, it seemed solid at first. He touched the area of the wall where his silver chord led into and found it a bit less solid. He turned around and looked back the way he had come, and sure enough there in the almost imperceptible far distance was another wall rising up as far as he could see. Suddenly he somehow knew, that is where he had come from. That it is where the broken cord would have led, had it still be intact. Yet, as it was broken, there would be no way to find the same spot there, he had found here on this wall. There was no way back, ever. He understood that even if he did not remember from where it was he had come. Shrugging there only seemed one way to try and go, so risking breaking this other silver cord, he slowly ran his hand along it up to the wall, then slowly, pushed into the wall. It gave way, reluctantly, but it did. And he could feel a vibration of a song on the other side. Inspiration hit, and he matched the song, and the wall opened up, just enough. He stepped into the lighter gray opening in the gray wall. He spilled out in a blazing riot of color's and sound, of light and shadows. Senses so tuned finely to being in a place with little shape or differences, that it was overwhelming at first. Compounded by the fact that all his memories came rushing back at that instant too. Zandeln, his name was Zandeln. And he now knew...the he was dead...because he recognized that he was back in the land of the Starry Fall's, the Umbra and realm of The Great Wolf. He had been raised here when young, and now he was back. Only a shaman could take him back here, which hadn't happened. The gate. The Lupinar. He had sung up another lupinar and stepped though his own gate, to find what he though had been Mato. And when he stepped into his own gate, his song on the other side stopped which cut his silver chord, his life line, that had been tied to his native world. The blackened chord was the one that had been his life. Yet what was this second one he had followed, which was now, gone. Yet somehow he knew it was still there but unseen, as he was not longer in between. And just as certain as he was dead, his old spirit pack sensing his return to the spirit wolf realm, zeroed in on his location, with much howls of greeting. Behind the pack of spirit wolves, came him. The Great Wolf. “Welcome home pup.” the Great Wolf greeted, and explained knowing, “and no you are not dead. Not really. You were brought here as a babe many many moon's ago, and as you grew here, you life also grew here a little. When you left to go to Unarath with your family, a piece of you, a very small piece of you, stayed here. When you cut your own life short there, that small connection was enough to bring you back here to us. But not as a ghost.” “This is your home now pup.” the Great Wolf added. The rest of the spirit wolves then greeted him in typical wolfish fashion. There was much tumbling and playing and robust yipping, and tail wagging. Eventually they all went back to the pack den, in a small nook near the Starry Fall's. He had never though he would see that impossible waterfall made of star's ever again. Soon the play time and the welcome time passed and the Great Wolf returned to fetch Zandeln. “Come pup, we have much to speak of.” He led Zandeln off some distance into the forest of the Umbra. Once they reached a clearing of sort the Great Wolf spoke again, “Zandeln is dead, but you are not. You must pick yourself a name, that will stay with you here, until time itself ends. You must choose the right name, without help, for it will shape you here while you shape it as well.” That was a typically cryptic statement from the great wolf, but from Zandeln's childhood, he knew it was because some concepts were impossible for a mortal mind to fathom. Yet somehow, he did understand that now. That led to his thoughts while in that gray land. The wolf once called Zandeln finally replied, “I am the Lupus Sunduiri”. The Great Wolf just stared at him a moment, the barked out a howl of laughter. “Oh my young one, you always did pick the difficult paths, even as a pup. You have chosen your new name. Somehow Wolf Singer seems fitting for you, son.” Zandeln started, “Son?!” Bearing his teeth in a brief grin, the great wolf says, “Yes. Even as we speak your true sire's journey also comes to an end. This will be one time you will be able to return to Gaia's realm without being summoned by someone from there. As the leader of your pack I will take his place when you return, there is much for you to learn still. Many tasks to do, that only us immortal wolves can do. You are like me, still alive, but part of the spirit realm. More of that later, for now go see you father safely to his final rest, then return. He brought you to my long ago as a pup, and I wish that he see you once before his light dim's fully. When you return you will take your place in the spirit pack as it's first living Beta. Lupus Sunduiri, formerly Zandeln, nods his muzzle and with tearing wolf eyes, moves himself without song, without magic, across through the planes to his dieing fathers side. Making himself visible to him, and the other, his half brother he somehow knows. He also somehow knows of the other three half siblings. It did not occur to him at that time, that he traveled as the gods do it, by will alone. As soon Zandeln left, Lykaois stepped out joining The Great wolf, spitting out, “This is not permitted, old fool, he was supposed to die.” The Great Wolf turned to face Lykaois and with a polite calmness, actually dared to face the Father of all wolves down. “The fates chose otherwise for him, he returned here, with part of his life still with him. He is like I am now. A guardian of spirits, a guide of spirits, a keeper of spirits. A singer for the spirits. After countless time, I finally have a son like me, to learn and to maybe help me here.” Growling out Lykaois, near to the point of a killing rage, “No he is En'thromii, he belongs to us.” “Not anymore,” The Great wolf growled back at the wolf father. “he is free to chose his own path, and I'd like to think he will return here, and become my son as I asked.” He pauses and opens up an image of the young wolf in mid air, “See, he is already doing it, guiding his birth father safely into the afterlife, and I didn't even have to explain to him how to get there, nor how to do it.” “That's not possible, he is mortal!” Lykaois watched aghast at what he was seeing, than finally continued, “You are to bring him before me and the others, as soon as he returns.” With that the wolf father vanished. No one but the Great Wolf heard his own parting words at the vanished father of wolves, referring to Zandeln being a mortal, “Not anymore he is not.” Mortal's don't true name themselves like Lupus Sunduiri has done. The Great Wolf returns to the Starry Falls and waits for his adopted son to return.